


A Bomb In Your Fire

by dafeedil



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: And yet, Boys In Love, Casual Sex, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, From Sex to Love, Grinding, I dubbed this the stripper fic even though there is literally one vague lap dance, Lap dancing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Comeplay, Moving In Together, Rimming, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undecided Relationship(s), and also Light Angst, it's only tagged bc it's Calum's job, stripper!calum, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafeedil/pseuds/dafeedil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael starts up a no-strings relationship with one of the dancers at the club where he works. Almost a year later, he’s still not entirely sure how they wound up where they are, but he figures it’s probably time he and Calum finally address the question they’re both dying to ask:</p>
<p>“So, what are we?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bomb In Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryraindrops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryraindrops/gifts).



> So, my intention was to have this up yesterday, but of course things never work out the way I intend for them to when it comes to finishing fics. Sincerest apologies. Not that any of you were waiting on it, necessarily, but still.
> 
> I wanted to gift this to Emi, the Michael to my Calum, who I told about this bit by bit without revealing too terribly much. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it, love!
> 
> Also, a thank you to Autumn, who always lets me yell my way through outlines to her and provides the most excellent feedback when my ideas are good, and when my ideas are shit.
> 
> Edited rather late at night by myself, so any inevitable mistakes are mine.
> 
> Happy (belated????) Valentine's Day to you all, here's some shameless Malum for you all. Xoxo
> 
> [8tracks playlist](http://8tracks.com/dafeedil/a-bomb-in-your-fire)

Michael doesn't have a lot to complain about.

He has his own apartment, his own car, and his own life in a city away from the town where he grew up. He pays his own bills (sort of lame), has a steady job doing bartending in a club downtown (less lame), and said club is one where attractive boys dance in little to no clothing ( _definitely_ not lame).

Sure, his mother would probably have a conniption if she knew her son was moonlighting regularly at an almost-always-nude bar, but still. He's self sufficient and he's never once had to ask anybody for anything, ever. So, Michael has no complaints.

Except, however, when it comes to the particular gentleman at the end of the bar who comes in every Friday night only to order several drinks, avoid confronting any of the dancers for a private session, and leave without tipping anyone that's doted on him for hours on end.

Tonight, it's a Friday, and Michael feels like complaining.

He's about to give the middle aged man a piece of his mind regarding the countless consecutive weeks of skimping on tips and being an overall grump to the staff when the lights on the stage several yards away dim down low, successfully drawing his eyes (and everyone else's in the club) towards it. The lights dimming is the giveaway that one or more of the performers is about to dance, and Michael will admit that he's guilty of watching the show on more than one occasion, which is the only reason the dimming catches his attention so quickly. Who's really to blame him, though?

Michael's shoulders slump when the dancer that comes out is one of the newbies. The managers always give the new ones more stage time early on in the night, especially on weekends. It's a weak attempt at building a regular following for them, but Michael knows that's not how it works in strip club 101. The fan favorites have their regular patrons, and those patrons have favorites for a reason. There's not a lot of room for swaying or being wishy-washy in the market of exotic dancing—regulars aren't so easily deterred from the dancer that they continuously come back to.

"Michael, did you hear me?" Ashton snaps, reaching over the counter to smack him on the side of the head. While Michael's distracted by the sudden assault, he reaches over further, plucking one of the maraschino cherries out of the jar Michael had recently opened before popping it into his mouth.

Michael grumbles, shooing Ashton's hand away from his work space. "Shouldn't you be working?" He fires back, motioning to all the filled booths and tables. "There's at least two bachelorette parties here tonight, they're gonna need their shot boy."

His best friend narrows his eyes, jaw moving as he messes with the stem of the cherry with his teeth. Moments later, as expected, Ashton spits a perfectly knotted stem at him, and Michael sighs when it bounces off of his nose harmlessly.

"Quit calling me the shot boy." Ashton says, putting air quotes around the last two words.

Michael laughs, shaking his head. "That's the _literal_ title on your job description, like. I don't know what you want me to do about that."

Ashton wrinkles his nose. "Nobody says that, though. Nobody calls it anything. I'm just, I'm the—"

"The shot boy?" Michael winks, ducking out of the way when Ashton reaches to swat at him again. "Go do your rounds, would you? Get outta here."

Clearly reluctant, Ashton rolls his eyes, grabbing his tray and walking over to one of the larger booths on the opposite side of the club. Michael chuckles as he goes, rolling up his sleeves a bit further before he takes a few orders from the other end of the bar. It keeps him pretty slammed, since it's a Friday night and he's currently the only bartender on duty. When his shift ends in a couple of hours, his body will be aching and his head will be absolutely pounding, but Michael likes this too much to ever say a bad word about it.

The shouts and wolf-whistles that suddenly resound throughout the club, loud enough to be heard over all of the music, are Michael's first signs that one of the crowd favorites is either onstage or starting to walk around the large seating area.

The second sign, of course, is when Michael sees the actual person that's walking around.

Calum Hood, Michael's decided, is an absolute anomaly. The boy's got confidence for miles when he's here like this, with people dying to touch him, to have him be theirs for however brief a moment. There's always a smirk on Calum's face as he flirts right back at them, his gentle hands on their necks and shoulders and waists as he whispers about how badly he wants to give them a show, or a little one-on-one time.

And even though the boy's regulars seem to think that Calum genuinely fantasizes about doing the things with them that he claims he does, at the end of the day, the only person whose bed Calum _ever_ climbs into is Michael's. That's the knowledge that allows Michael to sit back and stay cool as Calum plays the part. Does his job.

Michael watches as Calum works his sinful magic, giving customers his best hooded eyes before he murmurs something to them and tugs them in the direction of the back rooms where the private dances take place. He doesn't move his gaze towards the bar even once, because Calum never looks over at him when he's working, and Michael always tries his best not to look back, either, because they can't.

Or at least, Michael's 90% certain that they can't. There's got to be some sort of established rule about sleeping with one of the strippers at the club where you work, Michael's sure of it. Mixing business with pleasure, or something. Maybe it's buried in those strip club 101 guidelines.

It's impressive though, Michael thinks, how they've managed to keep this _thing_ of theirs under wraps for quite nearly a year now with only Ashton having found out about it. Ashton's safe, though, since there's _very_ little that he cares about in this world _less_ than his best friends' sex lives.

Since Calum's just taken someone into the back rooms, there's going to be at least twenty minutes before Michael sees him again, so Michael sets to busying himself with mixing drinks. Ashton comes up several times to relay orders from the booths to him, and Michael gives him hell about the shot boy thing again because he's not sure what kind of best friend he'd be if he _didn’t_ make Ashton's life marginally more difficult on a regular basis. A couple times Michael watches the shows onstage, making small talk with the patrons at the counter and biting his tongue whenever any of them mentions something particularly sleazy.

Things don't start slowing down until nearly two in the morning, when the club only has a couple of operating hours left for the night. Coincidentally, that's also when Calum finally reemerges from the back rooms, and Michael thinks maybe he's finally done with his rapid influx of private dance requests.

Instead of heading backstage, though, Calum slinks up to the bar, leaning over the counter and waving Michael closer. Michael purposely ignores the way that the couple of customers sitting around them rake their eyes along the boy's body, taking in the large expanse of brown skin that the shorts Calum's wearing reveal to them.

"What can I do ya for?" Michael asks him. He goes for subtlety, but it's hard to manage anything of the sort when Calum is so close to him, when they're breathing in the same air.

Calum smirks, reaching to tug gently on Michael's tie with his thumb and forefinger. Michael tries to avoid staring at Calum's mouth, at the way the boy flicks his tongue out over his plump bottom lip to wet it before he speaks. "I have a drink order. For a customer."

The look he gives Michael then tells him that what Calum's really over here for is _not_ a drink order. So Michael goes along with it, leaning in slightly so that Calum can push up onto his tiptoes, pressing them cheek to cheek as Calum whispers into his ear.

"I have to stay late tonight, so I'll just catch a ride with Ashton. Get some rest, though, don't wait up for me." Calum says, pulling away quickly so he can play it off as him trying to make sure Michael heard the order over all the loud music.

Michael knows better than that, though, and he loves the way that Calum trails his fingers ever so slightly along Michael's bare forearm before he turns and walks back towards the stage. Michael swallows hard, pushing down the punch of arousal to his gut that having Calum that close always does to him, before turning to make the supposed drink that nobody's actually requested.

*******

What's sort of ridiculous about Calum telling Michael not to wait up for him is that there's no physical way that Michael can sleep without him. He's tried. Several times, in fact. But it is genuinely impossible for Michael to get comfortable in his bed without the warm, solid body beside him or the soft, even breathing of the boy filling the room and acting as the most soothing white noise.

It's irritating that Michael's come to this conclusion, because it means on the rare nights where Calum sleeps at his own place, Michael hardly gets any shut-eye. And probably it's wishful thinking on Michael's part that when Calum looks as if he hasn't slept on those nights, either, that maybe he suffers from the same fate. Or maybe not wishful. Michael doesn't necessarily wish that Calum would strictly sleep beside him every single night (except that he also sort of really wishes that he would).

Calum doesn't have a key to the apartment, so his suggestion for Michael not to wait up isn't very well thought out, considering Michael needs to be awake to let him in unless Calum has intentions of breaking and entering. Regardless, he ends up waiting up for Calum, simply because he physically can't _not_ wait up for him. It's nearly five in the morning, though, and the club closes at four, so he shouldn't have to wait too much longer. His own shift ended at three, an hour after last call, and he's been uncomfortably awake at his apartment for almost two hours now as he waits for the knock on his front door.

Eventually, when Michael thinks the burn of exhaustion behind his eyes is going to drive him absolutely mad, he opts for a shower. He sets out a towel for himself, picking up the one that Calum left on the floor this morning after his own shower and hanging it on the towel rack.

Michael won't deny it. It looks bad. Calum's towels on his bathroom floor and Calum's favorite shampoo right next to his own on the shower rack, even Calum's dirty clothes in a pile in the corner that Michael knows he'll inevitably dump into the hamper with all of his own clothes—it all looks bad. Calum doesn't live with him, doesn't even have his own key or anything, and yet here they are. All the signs are pointing down the Boyfriends path, but they haven't even addressed that. When they started this, it wasn't really supposed to last an entire year. Not that he's complaining, just. Michael was never supposed to have to wonder if Calum was officially moved in, or if they were actually doing the official dating thing.

And yet, it still fails to bother him.

He doesn't mind seeing Calum's coconut scented shampoo beside his, and he doesn't mind picking up Calum's still damp towel every day after work. He doesn't mind doing the laundry even when half of it belongs to somebody else, and he definitely doesn't mind having the extra warmth of a body entwined with his when he sleeps.

Before Michael can think too hard about it, he hops in the shower, messily running his own shampoo through his bleached blond hair before cleaning himself off as quickly as possible. He probably doesn't have a lot of time before Calum will show up, so he does his best to be in and out before too much time passes.

Because Calum has impeccable timing (or maybe because they're scarily in sync with each other, even when they're not in the same room), a knock on the front door sounds just as Michael's finished drying off. His hair is still slightly damp and starting to frizz a bit when he slides into a pair of boxers, and ordinarily he'd opt for no clothes whatsoever when Calum is concerned, but there's always the possibility that Calum has invited Ashton upstairs.

Which has actually happened before, despite that this apartment technically isn't Calum's and he doesn't really have the right to invite people into it. Michael never tells him that he can't, though, because that's truthfully just another thing that Michael doesn't mind. Sometimes, he'll even have Calum pick up the landline when it rings, always ignoring the flutter in his chest that acts up when he hears Calum's voice greet the callers with "Clifford residence." It's a little bit scary, how natural and easy it sounds coming from the boy's mouth. Like Calum could say it for the rest of his life. Like Michael could _listen_ to him saying it for the rest of his life.

However, when Michael opens his door, the only person standing in the hallway is Calum, armed with his usual duffel bag and a not-as-usual large box of pizza. Their curly-haired mutual best friend is nowhere to be seen.

Just to be safe, though: "Were you followed?"

He asks it in his most Super Serious spy voice, and Calum just laughs, shaking his head as he walks past Michael and into the apartment.

"The coast is clear, I promise." Calum plays along. "Nobody knows of our location."

Michael beams, shutting the door again and sliding the lock in place before he holds out his hands in an attempt to help Calum with all his items. Recognizing this, Calum hands over the pizza box, which Michael had been hoping he'd give up.

When Calum starts off towards the bedroom to get ready for bed, Michael follows, laying across the mattress and opening the box to indulge in a few slices. It's not very hot anymore, and a couple of pieces are missing, but it's still good. Michael will never turn down free food.

"I can't believe you spent your tips on food. _Again_." Michael jokes, but his mouth is full of the food that Calum's purchased, so probably he doesn't have any room to criticize.

Apparently sensing that, Calum fixes him with an expectant gaze, a smirk on his lips and an arch to one of his eyebrows. It's frustrating, how even _that_ expression looks good on him, and Michael's just about had it with Calum looking so good during everything that he's ever done in the time Michael's known him. In an attempt to distract himself, Michael looks down the boy's body, but that turns out to be a mistake, too. Because even though Calum is currently in a pair of loose sweatpants and a light jacket, Michael knows that the tight shorts and extensive amount of body glitter he'd been wearing during his shift are still very much present on Calum's body underneath those boring clothes.

"Ash and I each had a slice, but I bought it for you, mostly. Figured you would've been too tired to cook anything." Calum says, changing the subject. Or, not really, but he may as well have, because Michael's brain was already miles away from the topic of the pizza.

"You know me so well." Michael muses. He sounds too fond, but he doesn't bother trying to cover it up. He stopped bothering months ago, finding it inevitable that he'd always sound fond when talking about the other boy. Calum's seemingly done the same.

"Too well." Calum says back, a smile in his voice, before he slides out of his jacket and heads into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

While the boy is busy, Michael scarfs down another slice, only then realizing how hungry he really is. The rumble in his stomach sneaks up on him, and suddenly it's as though he hasn't tasted food in days.

When Calum returns from the bathroom, he's changed out of his sweats and those spectacular gold shorts from the club and into the regular boxers he sleeps in. Michael's only slightly disappointed that he missed out on getting another look at those shorts, but this version of Calum is so much better anyway. He looks soft, cuddly, and Michael smiles before pushing the box of pizza off to the side as Calum flicks the bedroom light off and climbs onto the bed beside him.

"Sleepy?" Michael asks, cooing when Calum hoists up and maneuvers himself into his lap. Calum's got his legs around Michael's waist, his bum situated between Michael's slightly spread thighs, and his hands are tracing lightly along Michael's biceps. Calum always gets like this when he's tired—touchy and affectionate and _gentle_ in this way that makes Michael feel a little bit giddy.

Calum hums. "Always am on Fridays." He slides his hands up, clasping them behind Michael's neck so that he can simultaneously hold Michael close and run his fingers over the few stray strands of blond hair at the nape of the boy's neck. Michael loves it, fighting the urge to curl into the sensation and purr like a cat.

"How was your night?" Michael asks instead. Possibly, he doesn't need to ask, since he and Calum work some of the same shifts at the same strip club, but he can tell how much Calum enjoys the opportunity to talk about his day. Not that Michael doesn't enjoy the chance to hear Calum ramble on, because he really _does_ enjoy it. Listening to Calum talk is probably one of Michael's favorite things on this earth.

"Oh, you know. Pretty standard. Lots of guys pretending to be at work late while their wives worry away at home." Calum shrugs, bringing one hand around to flutter his fingers across Michael's pale collarbones. At the touch, Michael feels his skin heat up, like he's suddenly on fire. Calum has this ability to set him ablaze any time he uses his touch the right way. "Harry was there when Ash and I stayed late. He taught me some new moves."

At that, Michael's eyebrows shoot up, a smirk instantly etching onto his face. Calum looks sheepish, but also in this way that makes it obvious he knows exactly what kind of affect his words would have on Michael. His brown eyes are cast downward, possibly on Michael's tummy, where Calum's touch has wandered down to.

"New moves, huh?" Michael asks, digging his fingers into the beautiful brown skin of Calum's hips. It's a little rough, which makes Calum shudder, but Michael has to bring his touch away before he can leave a mark. That's the part that sucks the most—the fact that because Calum's body is what sells dances, Michael can't mark it up and claim it the way he always finds himself wanting to. Maybe one day, Calum will allow him to have that. "That was awfully generous of Harry."

Calum smiles, tilting his head and brushing his nose along Michael's jaw. His breath is hot against Michael's neck, and it makes the older boy weak, just like it always does. "He said I was getting the hang of them, but that I could probably use some practice before taking them to work with me."

Michael feels himself smile so wide the dimples come out, and Calum giggles against him the second he sees the wide grin. Every time Calum mentions needing to practice, it usually ends in a really amazing experience for Michael, and he's hoping tonight isn't any different. Free private performances is probably the second best perk of having this thing with Calum. (The first best perk of having this thing with Calum is probably exactly that—having this thing with _Calum_. But.)

"Well, I mean. Maybe you could show them to me? I'm a great dummy." Michael teases, sliding his hands around to cup Calum's ass through his boxers.

The younger boy squeaks, jerking away from the touch, but that only succeeds in brushing their hips together. Michael smirks again, and Calum flushes, hot with embarrassment and arousal. Michael knows that look all too well by now.

"You _are_ a dummy." Calum fires back, and Michael gasps in mock horror. To apologize, Calum pecks his lips once quickly, successfully stealing the breath from Michael's lungs. "You really want me to show you?"

Michael snorts. "Obviously."

Calum giggles, scooting back until he's no longer sitting on Michael. "Sit on the edge of the bed." He instructs, and he no longer sounds like he's goofing around. "You know the drill."

Eagerly, Michael nods, taking a seat where Calum had told him to. Calum's already off the bed and across the room, digging around in his duffel bag. When he finds the iPod he was looking for, he plugs it into Michael's stereo, making a few quick adjustments until Michael's room is filled with the sound of smooth R&B.

The songs are mostly bass and not a whole lot of words, perfect for an inevitable lap dance, even though they're basically the epitome of a sexy cliché. Then again, lap dances in and of themselves are sort of cliché, Michael supposes.

He's not going to turn one down because of that fact, though. Of course he's not.

Calum makes his way back over easily, kneeling in front of Michael before he coaxes the boy's pale legs apart. With more room, Calum turns, bracing his palms on milky thighs as he moves his body back up. Probably not-so-incidentally, he rolls his ass back to grind on Michael's crotch, and the blond haired boy breathes in sharply at the sensation.

He wants to touch, but he knows Calum's rules all too well. Calum never lets him touch, because he never lets any of his actual customers touch. It's unbearably sexy, though, Michael will admit. He loves how in charge Calum can be whenever he shows off his body like this—in any other circumstance, Calum gives himself completely over to Michael. It's a welcome change to sit back and just be teased, sometimes.

Calum repeats the motion a couple times before he turns to face Michael again, standing so that Michael's face is even with his chest. When Calum's fingers slide through his bleached locks, Michael bites his lip, looking up at his boy with eyes that hold the pleas itching to fly out of his mouth. But Calum only smirks down at him, leaning in to ghost their lips together before he pulls away fast, leaving Michael dizzy and lost.

Bracing his hands on Michael's shoulders, Calum straddles him on the bed, his knees holding himself up on either side of Michael's hips. With the new angle, Michael's face is even with the boy's stomach, and significantly closer than before. So much closer, in fact, that when Calum starts rolling his torso, all he'd have to do is purse his lips in order to make contact with the taut skin. He attempts it, a couple of times, but Calum always sees it coming, pulling away just in time.

"So good." Michael breathes out, gripping the sheets behind him tightly in order to refrain from reaching out and flipping Calum over like he really wants to do. "Always look so good like this, Cal."

Calum beams, rewarding Michael for his compliment in the form of a quick and vicious grind of their hips together. Michael's more than a little hard, tenting his boxers, and a quick glance down tells him that Calum isn't as immune to the sexiness and intimacy of a lap dance as he wants Michael to think he is.

"Do you always get hard when you dance?" Michael asks, smirking up at his boy. Calum shivers, shaking his head, but Michael knows he's struck a really good nerve when Calum grips Michael's hair hard and grinds down with a little bit more purpose. "I think you're lying to me."

Calum whimpers, shaking his head again quickly, determinedly. "I don't, I don't. I'm not lying. It's just—you, Mikey. You always make me feel so good."

Michael feels his chest warm, and for a moment all he wants to do is cuddle Calum into him and tell the boy how much he adores having him around. But he also really wants to keep this good thing going, really wants to get them both off, so he rolls his own hips up just as Calum works his down.

"Yeah? Fuck, you're so hot when you dance for me. Do you feel sexy when you dance for me?" Michael inquires. His breath is coming in short pants, and he won't be able to refrain from touching for much longer, but he tries his best to hold out.

Calum nods, his eyes fluttering shut. "I always feel sexy when you look at me like this." He whispers, and Michael's heart swells. It's not something that should really make him feel so fond, but because it's Calum, of course it does.

"You _are_ sexy, Cal. So damn hot." Michael rambles, finally releasing his grip on the sheets in order to slide his hands around, digging his fingers into the outside of Calum's thighs.

He's truly expecting Calum to just go pliant under his touch, to fall into him and allow Michael to have his way. He's surprised, albeit pleasantly, when Calum freezes up instead, halting all movement of his hips in order to tear Michael's hands away from him.

Michael's cock stirs with interest when Calum shoves him back against the bed, pinning his hands above his head as he stares down at the light haired boy below him. Calum's brown eyes are darker, somehow, suddenly serious, and he licks his top lip once before shaking his head slowly.

"No touching." Calum murmurs, leaning down until their lips are brushing ever so slightly. "You know better than that, Mikey."

He's never seen Calum act _quite_ like this before, and Michael would be lying if he said it wasn't one of the hottest moments of their entire fling to _date_. He pushes up against Calum's hold, mostly just to feel how he's being held down, and he smirks proudly when Calum just presses down on him more firmly.

"Sorry." Michael pants, chest rising and falling quickly.

It's silent for several moments, save for the music coming from the stereo on the other side of the room. Calum keeps staring down at him, like he's trying to figure out where to go from here.

Eventually, Calum must decide to just keep going like this, because he starts rolling his body again, and this time it feels more torturous. He's grinding their crotches together in tight circles, hot and purposeful, like he has a mission. And he'll probably be successful in it, considering that Michael's thighs are already twitching and his hips are ticking up into every rock of Calum's, body tense and _so_ ready to come.

Calum looks to be a similar state, but he tries to contain it. He's biting down on his lip to keep his usual sounds at bay, but his thighs are shaking, too, so Michael knows it won't be much longer at all. Calum just needs a little nudge, and it's almost always in the form of words.

"I didn't know you had it in you, baby." Michael puffs, grinding up in rapid succession just to see if Calum will do what he suspects he might.

He does, of course, because Michael knows him way too well. When Michael goes to rock up again, clearly attempting to take back some control, Calum releases the grip on one of Michael's pinned wrists, switching to hold both of them in place with one hand as the free one slams Michael's hips back down against the mattress.

"Fuck, Cal, I didn't know I had a little power bottom on my hands." Michael smirks, loving the weak noise that tumbles out of Calum's mouth. They both know that's not what he is—in fact, he's pretty far from it. But Calum's always loved it when Michael lets him act like one, loves when Michael switches back the control and reminds him of how he was never _actually_ in charge of anything.

"Please," Calum whispers, slowing his hips down in that way Michael has come to learn means the boy is about to lose it. Michael's right there with him, he's just got to see Calum come, first. It's the best part of the whole thing.

Michael indulges him. "Look at you, Cal. Holding me down like you're gonna fuck me. S'so cute, are you even trying?"

Calum makes a sound like he's been punched, curling up around the orgasm that starts tearing through him then, and Michael takes advantage of Calum's slackened grip to finally flip them over. He pushes his boy down against the mattress, fucks his hips into Calum's hard and fast, panting out the brunette's name over and over into his neck before he finally comes, too, loving the feeling of Calum's nails digging hard into his back, Calum's legs in a death grip around his waist.

He doesn't know how long they lay like that, uncomfortably but blissfully entwined. It feels like minutes, though it could easily also be hours, and when Calum suddenly squirms underneath him, Michael wonders if he'd actually fallen asleep in the comfort of Calum's arms, in the haze of post-orgasm euphoria.

Michael doesn't move without a decent struggle, forcing Calum to really work to free himself from the weight of a sleepy Michael Clifford. He succeeds, though, wiggling his way out before collapsing on the mattress beside Michael.

When Michael shifts, he wrinkles his nose, opening his eyes to glare at the brown haired boy facing him. "You made me come in my pants."

Calum snorts, rolling his eyes before giving Michael a playful shove. "I made you come in your underwear. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Michael complains, deciding there's no way he can sleep like this. He rolls over onto his back, sliding his boxers off and tossing them to the floor. He smiles tiredly when Calum kisses his temple before getting up to change into some new underwear, watching from the bed while Calum turns off the stereo once he's redressed. "Come back."

Calum nods, ignoring the whiny nature of Michael's request. He easily falls back into Michael's open arms, curling into him like he always so effortlessly does. They fit so well, Michael thinks. Like puzzle pieces.

When Calum kisses his neck sweetly and murmurs "goodnight, babe," into the skin there, Michael closes his eyes, trying to think of any possible world in which that action doesn't feel insanely intimate. It feels too real, too serious, but it also feels like Michael can't live without having it.

"Should I start paying you for all these free dances?" Michael jokes, attempting to shake the feeling that's settled over him, yelping when Calum bites down on his collarbone to reprimand him.

Even _that_ feels like something way too real, and Michael thinks maybe it's not the action, so much as it is the boy.

Maybe, unsurprisingly, _Calum’s_ something real.

*******

Michael doesn't wake up until well into late afternoon. The sun is hanging heavy in the sky, and Michael thinks about how all his neighbors will be getting home from their day jobs in a couple of hours, just as Michael's opening his eyes after sleeping the whole day away.

That's the downfall of working late night shifts. The hours wreck his sleep schedule.

He’s woken up by his cell phone alarm going off, informing him that there’s only an hour and a half before he’s going to have to leave for his shift at the club. Calum won’t have to arrive for his own shift until another hour or so after Michael’s starts, but Calum always wakes up with Michael, says he prefers to, and that’s why Michael isn’t shocked to see the boy squirming as he’s roused from a deep sleep.

In hopes of easing the waking up process, Michael leans in, brushing a soft kiss to Calum’s forehead before trailing his lips to the boy’s temple in order to place an additional kiss there. It makes Calum hum appreciatively, arching his back and extending his arms as he stretches. Michael winces at first when Calum’s joints pop, but it quickly turns into a smile when Calum yawns adorably.

“Time to wake up, sleepy.” Michael singsongs, nuzzling into Calum’s neck and wrapping an arm around his waist. Calum just laughs, allowing the cuddle.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake.” Calum shoots back, his voice gravelly and rough with lack of use for the last several hours that they’ve been unconscious. Michael will absolutely never _admit_ it, because it’ll only fuel Calum’s ego, but Calum’s voice within the first few minutes of being awake is absolutely sinful, and probably Michael’s favorite sound on the entire planet. “I feel gross.”

Michael scoffs, offended, before he starts to pull away. He hasn’t made it more than a few inches before Calum grumbles a protest, pulling the boy back into him in order to kiss him properly. It’s the best part of his day, Michael’s decided, these sweet little kisses that they share in bed during the brief moments after waking up where sleep is still dissipating and making way for conscious thought instead of dreams.

“’Cause you _are_ gross.” Michael teases, smiling against Calum’s mouth as the boy huffs and arches up for another kiss. “The absolute nastiest.”

“Fuck off.” Calum pouts pitifully, shoving lightly at Michael’s shoulder. “Join me in the shower?”

Michael grins, shaking his head. “No can do, bro. I showered _before_ bed like an actual human being.”

Calum makes a face, reeling back to give Michael wide eyes like he can’t possibly believe what he’s hearing. “First of all, you can’t call me bro. Like, ever. We talked about this. You can’t call someone who gives you orgasms on a regular basis ‘ _bro_ ’.” He sounds so serious when he says it, completely deadpanning, and Michael can’t help but snort as he tries to hold in a proper laugh. “Second, how can you possibly shower before you go to bed? You just get dirty all over again while you’re sleeping.”

In all of Michael’s twenty-two years of life, he guarantees he’s never heard of anything as ridiculous as what Calum’s saying to him right now. And he makes that opinion clear, pushing up onto an elbow to look down at Calum as he gives the boy a disgusted look. “I’m in a _bed_ , Calum. How dirty can I possibly get?”

It takes him half a second too long to realize the innuendo that Calum has so expertly roped him into. It takes Calum biting down on his lip to suppress a cheeky grin for Michael to catch on, and once he does, he rolls his eyes so hard it makes his head hurt a bit.

“Fuck you.” Michael chuckles, pressing two fingers to Calum’s forehead and pushing him away so that he won’t have to look at that smug face anymore. “Sex stuff aside, at least I’m not marinating in my gross boy stench for however many hours while I’m asleep.”

“Your gross boy stench never goes away.” Calum mutters, squealing when Michael pinches his side as punishment for the comment. “Also, you have to sleep on wet hair when you shower before bed. That’s why you always whine when your hair splits.”

Michael groans in frustration, rolling over until he’s as far away from Calum's attitude as the size of the mattress allows him to be. “What the hell do you know about hair care, anyway?”

Calum giggles, a joyous sound that makes Michael’s heart warm up, and he crawls over to where Michael’s repositioned himself. He leans down over him, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted like he’s going to end this whole pointless argument with a much-more-enjoyable make out session.

But, because he’s Calum, of course that’s not what Michael gets.

Instead, Michael gets Calum smirking slightly down at him before he adds, “Says the boy who kills his hair with bleach.”

Michael decides he doesn’t have to take such complete sass from a boy whose dick he regularly has inside his mouth, so he jerks up, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss in order to shut Calum up for good. And it works, Calum letting out a beautiful, wounded squeak as he goes absolutely liquid above Michael.

He waits until Calum tilts his head and opens his mouth invitingly, clearly expecting to deepen the kiss, and then he pulls his head away. Calum sways slightly on the spot, clearly not expecting the abrupt end to the lip-lock, and Michael’s satisfied when the brunette frowns.

“Get out of here, you stink.” Michael jokes, and Calum chuckles, pecking Michael’s nose before he pushes himself up, stretching his arms again as he walks into the adjoining bathroom.

Michael’s still laughing softly to himself even after Calum’s disappeared from his view, the sound of running water suggesting that the boy’s set off to take the shower that sparked their whole feud. A glance over at his clock tells him that he’s still got around an hour and fifteen minutes until he has to leave for work in order to make it on time, and while curling back under the covers of his bed seems like the more appealing option, he knows it’s not wise, so he forces himself to get up.

*******

They make a good team. That’s another thing that makes Michael’s heart do little stutter steps and back flips. He notices it _especially_ in the early evenings, when they’re both respectively getting ready for work and easily moving around each other like they’ve been doing it for years instead of only months.

Calum’s just gotten out of the shower, the towel that Michael knows will be strewn on the floor for him to pick up when he gets home from work in the morning secured around the boy’s waist as he brushes his teeth. Michael’s beside him at the bathroom counter, working on fastening the buttons on his white dress shirt. His tie is still loose around the neck, but he leaves it that way on purpose, because Calum always tightens it for him in this expert way Michael just can’t figure out for himself.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Michael feels his heart stop when Calum’s reflection smiles adoringly at him. Out of habit, Michael gently smiles back, and Calum looks away after that, turning his attention to the clusterfuck of a counter in front of them.

Michael follows his gaze, taking in all the mixed-up products that are scattered along the granite, and he gets an idea. “I can clean this up when I get home from work, if you want.”

It comes out naturally, but it couldn’t feel more awkward once it’s out in the open if he’d tried. Michael can’t even _deny_ how out of place it sounds in the kind of relationship they’re supposed to have, running things like _cleaning_ by each other. This is _Michael’s_ apartment; he’s not required to tell Calum about what he plans to do with it. And yet, it feels wrong not to. Like Calum should have a say, or like Michael should do it on the basis that Calum might really appreciate it if Michael did something for him like cleaning up the bathroom counter.

Calum’s eyes widen a little bit, like he’d been zoning out and just started really paying attention, and Michael wonders if he was thinking the same thing about what Michael had said. Quickly, eager to respond, Calum bends down, spitting into the sink and rinsing off his toothbrush.

“Sorry, no, it’s not a problem.” Calum assures him. “Wasn’t even thinking about that.”

Michael bites his tongue, unsure if he’s holding back a sigh of relief or disappointment.

Whatever he’d been feeling, though—whatever worry—dissipates the very second Calum pushes up onto his tiptoes, giving Michael’s cheek a kiss before he sets to making sure the blond haired boy’s tie is in perfect condition.

*******

A few days later, Michael finds himself with a night off. He doesn’t come across those all that often, since he’s a complete sucker for the extra pay that comes along with picking up the unwanted shifts and the occasional overtime compensation. But on the rare instance that he does, he honestly sort of hates it.

Most of the time, on Michael’s days off, Calum still has to work, and having more hours out of the day to spend with Calum in the peace of the apartment is really the only benefit Michael can immediately see to having time off. So mostly, instead of going out with friends or running any errands, Michael just hangs out at the apartment, doing the mindless chores that have accumulated over the weeks until Calum shows back up at the front door after his shift is over.

Calum had left for work about four hours ago, meaning it’s only around midnight, but Michael’s been awake for going on over twenty four hours in hopes of not knocking his sleep schedule even further off kilter, so while he normally doesn’t like sleeping without Calum beside him, Michael decides that right now is the best case scenario for an exception.

He makes sure he sets an alarm for four o’clock so that he’s able to answer Calum’s text about coming around to his, even though Calum really doesn’t need to bother asking for permission anymore. Michael will always say yes.

He doesn’t even make it to his bedroom, falling asleep on the uncomfortable living room couch with his phone still unlocked on his chest before he can.

*******

It’s a knocking on his front door that rouses him this time, instead of his phone alarm. The noise spooks him so bad that he sputters, nearly falling off of the couch as his whole body jerks in surprise. His phone looks to be dead, since he never got around to plugging it in, so he cranes his neck to look at his watch in order to find the time. Six o’clock. Still morning, though, judging by the height of the sun in the sky outside the kitchen window.

The knocking continues, and Michael pushes himself off of the couch and across the room to unlock the door without even bothering to look through the peephole. Calum’s the only one that ever comes around, and he stopped expecting anybody else a long time ago.

“You didn’t answer my text, I was worried.” Calum says in lieu of a greeting, stepping through the doorway to give Michael a quick squeeze around the waist.

Michael chuckles sleepily, turning his face into Calum’s curls to breathe in the calming scent of coconut that greets him every time he does this. It’s strange, how that smell can reassure and relax him in seconds, all because of the boy Michael’s come to know is attached to it.

“I fell asleep.” Michael says stupidly, shrugging. “C’mon, I wanna lay back down. Come lay down with me.”

Calum nods, nudging Michael towards the couch as he shuts the door behind them and tosses his duffel bag down onto the coffee table. Michael doesn’t need to be told twice, so he climbs back onto the couch, keeping his legs spread so that Calum can settle between them easily, his back to Michael’s chest.

With the familiar warmth and solid weight of Calum against him, Michael finds it a lot easier to close his eyes than before. This time, it’s not because he’s so exhausted he can’t physically keep them open any longer, it’s because he’s at peace with Calum in his arms, with Calum stroking his thumb along Michael’s hands where they’re clasped around the brunette’s chest.

“Enjoy your day off?” Calum asks, his voice soft and low just in case Michael’s already fallen asleep. It makes Michael smile, pull Calum into him tighter.

“No. S’always a shit day when I don’t get to see you.” Michael complains, and Calum chuckles, leaning his head back against Michael’s shoulder. Absentmindedly, Michael kisses his temple, just because it’s right there in front of him. Because he can. “How was work?”

Calum shrugs, sighing contently as he squirms, getting even more comfortable. Michael can tell he’s already getting tired, since Calum usually has at least _something_ to say about his job. He gets it, though, and he brings a hand up to run his fingers through Calum’s hair soothingly.

“How does some food sound?” Michael asks instead, lowering his lips to Calum’s jaw. He leaves a chaste kiss there, peppering some more down the expanse of Calum’s neck that he can reach, and he smirks when he feels Calum inhale sharply and tense against him.

“O-okay,” Calum stutters, squirming for a much different reason now. Michael chuckles, making sure his breath fans out over Calum’s slightly damp neck, and Calum absolutely shudders in his hold. “Fuck, stop, m’gonna get hard.”

Instead of sounding painfully turned on, Calum just sounds torn, like getting a boner and wanting to sleep aren’t things that can ever conveniently go together. Michael supposes they’re not, he hates going to sleep when he’s hard.

“I’d take care of it for you, though.” Michael whispers. “Right here, even, just like this. You could just lay back and close your eyes while I jerked you off. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I think you would.” As he speaks, he trails his fingers over Calum’s clothed tummy, just faint enough to tease.

And it appears to be working, judging by the whine Calum gives him in response. “Mikey—”

Michael plants another kiss to Calum’s pulse point, feeling it hammer away under his lips as he sucks a mark into the skin there. “Or I could make you some breakfast instead. Cereal, maybe. Or pancakes. Could fry up some bacon and make you some coffee.”

Calum giggles, before he throws his head back and gives Michael an obnoxious, obviously fake and drawn out moan. “Keep talking dirty, baby.”

Michael smiles, nipping playfully at the skin he’d just been sucking on. “Some jelly on wheat toast. _Scrambled eggs_.”

Calum laughs wildly, sitting up and spinning around to look at Michael when he does so. And in the back of his mind, Michael wishes he hadn’t, because every time Calum looks at him with that radiant smile—so wide that his cheeks scrunch and his eyes squint ever so slightly—he falls a little bit harder. Every time Calum looks at him with all that happiness and adoration in his eyes, Michael’s terrified he won’t ever be able to look away again.

To distract himself, although probably not very successfully, Michael leans forward and gives Calum a tender little kiss on the corner of the boy’s mouth. Calum hums, mumbles something about Michael having terrible aim, but Michael thinks that he probably knows that Michael only kissed him the way he did in order to ground himself. He catches Calum doing the same thing to him sometimes, like it’s become some sort of _thing_ between them.

When he pulls back, Calum’s giving him a look. It’s a look that’s coming around a lot more often lately, and the longer Michael stares back, the more he wonders what’s going on in the boy’s head whenever it happens.

However, the more Michael thinks about it, the more he suspects that the answer might turn out to be one that he isn’t prepared to deal with quite yet.

“Cereal!” Michael declares suddenly, shooting to his feet so fast it makes him a little dizzy. Calum looks equally as confused, giving Michael a curious stare as the blond claps his hands once and starts walking over towards the kitchen. “How does cereal for dinner sound?”

“Um. Yeah, that sounds fine.” Calum says slowly, as if he’s suddenly remembered their conversation about breakfast from no more than a couple of minutes ago. He sounds distant, though, like his thoughts aren’t actually on the cereal Michael’s suggested, are on something else altogether.

Regardless, Michael nods, pulling two bowls down from the cabinet above the stove. Calum stays in the living room while Michael takes out a box of Lucky Charms from the small pantry, glued to the couch as his eyes stay casted down at his hands.

Calum isn’t usually so quiet, though, so when Michael reaches into the fridge for the carton of milk, he asks, “What’re you thinking so hard about over there, huh?” His question is lighthearted, asked with a chuckle towards the end of it as he bumps the fridge closed with his hip and starts back to the kitchen counter where the bowls of cereal are.

“That I love you.” Calum says out of the blue, so clear and unprompted and absolutely unexpected that Michael actually stops dead in his tracks, suddenly rooted to the floor in the middle of the kitchen while he swears time completely stops around them. In his haste to spin around and face the boy, Michael drops the carton, gasping in shock as it slams down onto the tile and explodes around his feet.

From across the room, Calum winces, eyes glued to the milk that’s swirling around Michael’s feet on the kitchen floor. Apparently, Michael’s reaction isn’t one that Calum had been anticipating, judging by the way he clears his throat and nervously scratches at his forearm.

“I just, um. Thought you should know.” Calum says, sounding small, and Michael wishes he could find his voice so that he could say _anything_ back, but words fail him now more than they ever have before. When Michael just continues to stand there, probably looking as stupid as he feels, Calum chews on his lip and speaks again. “You don’t, like. I’m not expecting you to say it back, or anything. I just wanted you to know.”

It takes several agonizingly long seconds, but Michael’s brain finally kicks on long enough for him to simply nod. He swallows hard, his throat dry and rough.

He doesn’t know how long they stare at each other like that, rigid and awkward in the uncomfortable silence that’s settled over the entire apartment, but he knows it’s long enough that his knees are starting to shake, protesting against the eerie stillness. The cold liquid all over the floor is starting to soak through his socks, and Michael resists the urge to gag at the feeling of it.

“Right, well.” Calum breathes, shaking his head as he pushes up onto his legs that look to be equally as shaky as Michael’s own. “Now that that’s happened, I’m gonna go hide under the covers for an entire year.”

Calum grabs his duffel bag off of the coffee table, and as the boy walks off towards the bedroom, Michael tries to find his voice. Tries to call for Calum to wait, so they can talk about this, but all that comes out is some incoherent mumble about staying behind to clean up the milk.

*******

Sleep doesn’t find him again very easily after that. He tries, he _does_ , but right now, he doesn’t think there’s any way he’d be able to slow his brain or heart down long enough to pass out for even a second.

He’d climbed into bed beside an already unconscious Calum a few minutes after mopping up the spilled milk, and the boy’s limbs are draped over him in his koala-like manner just as they are every other night. It’s as if nothing is different, and the longer he has to process, the more Michael realizes that really, nothing _is_ different.

He knew Calum loved him. Deep down, he really did always know. It’s just that it’s strange, having that information out in the open like this, because it prompts a larger discussion that Michael’s pretty sure they had no intentions of ever having. At least, they didn’t intend on having it when they started fooling around all those months ago.

That’s another thing, though. It’s been almost a _year_ since Calum approached him in the club, since they started having sex and seeing each other. It was probably foolish to ever think that after an entire year, they wouldn’t ever have to address all these elephants in the room.

What’s scary is that he’s pretty sure he loves Calum, too. Has for awhile, even, probably since the first time he ever had to pick up Calum’s stupid towel from the bathroom floor.

What’s scary is that even though Calum has confessed to being in love with him, it doesn’t _change_ anything. Not a damn thing. Because they _are_ in love, there’s no way for Michael to tiptoe around that anymore like it’s not an absolute fact. Somewhere along their year together, it stopped being about the casual affair, became something deeper than Michael’s ever experienced with someone before.

He looks down at Calum, at how at ease the boy looks asleep on Michael’s chest, and Michael itches to say it back. But it feels wrong to say it this way, not genuine, and the last thing he wants is for Calum to think Michael’s just making fun of him. He never wants Calum to think he doesn’t _mean_ it.

Shakily, Michael breathes in the lingering scent of coconut shampoo in Calum’s hair, and only then does he find the peacefulness he needs to finally drift off to sleep.

*******

When Michael wakes up later that evening, Calum’s still beside him, but he's buried under the covers and with a pillow covering his head to block out the blaring sounds coming from Michael’s cell phone alarm. It’s not something that Calum really ever does, seeing as how he usually wakes up _with_ Michael so that they can spend an hour or two together before they have to leave for work and avoid each other at the club for the rest of the night.

It makes Michael frown, feeling something tug at his heart, perhaps the insisting reminder that Michael’s the biggest Asshole™ around for not telling Calum how he felt earlier that morning, when Calum was vulnerable and putting all of himself out there, expecting Michael not to let him fall.

He knows there’s nothing he can say right now, though. Nothing that will make Calum believe him when he says it back, because Michael didn’t say it when he should have. Calum’s always going to wonder if Michael’s being serious unless he finds a way to tell the younger boy in the right way. Calum deserves that much.

Instead of trying to get Calum to wake up and get in the shower, Michael just sighs, turning off his alarm and sauntering over to his dresser. He gets dressed in the bathroom with the door shut, staring at himself in the mirror afterwards and feeling like the worst person on the planet. When he finishes brushing his teeth and styling his sleep-mussed hair into cooperation, he picks up the tie he’d been avoiding, wrapping it around his collar and frowning when he attempts to fasten it three times with no success.

He debates just forgoing it all together, but then the bathroom door is opening, and Calum shuffles in, yawning and looking like he hasn’t slept all night, despite that Michael knows that’s not true. Michael turns to face him immediately, instead of looking at him through the buffer of a reflection. He figures he owes the boy that much.

“Here, let me.” Calum says, once he notices Michael struggling with the tie. When Calum reaches up to fix the garment, Michael goes pliant, resting his forehead on Calum’s before the boy is even finished working.

He plans to say something, maybe apologize, but same as last night, none of the words come out. Calum even gives him a hopeful look when he breathes in, like he recognizes what Michael’s trying to do and is giving him time to get the sentence sorted. But Michael never finds the right words, so he has to stand there and watch as the flicker of light in Calum’s eyes goes out and dulls them back to the dark brown they’d been just seconds before.

Calum finishes up with the tie without another word, patting Michael’s chest gently when he’s done. He won’t meet Michael’s eyes, and it breaks the older boy’s heart, knowing he’s hurt his boy so badly that Calum can’t even look at him. Calum doesn’t deserve to ever feel the way he’s clearly feeling right now.

Michael sighs, resting his hand over Calum’s, and he watches as Calum’s chest hitches when he holds his breath at the contact.

“I’m gonna be late.” Michael says stupidly, and Calum nods before sliding his hand out from underneath Michael’s. His skin feels icy underneath his shirt, frozen everywhere except for the scalding hot place Calum’s hand had been. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, then?”

Calum simply nods again, closing his eyes when Michael leans in to kiss his forehead. He still leans into the soft gesture, Michael notices, so maybe Calum doesn’t hate him as much as Michael’s beginning to think he does.

Calum doesn’t audibly reply, though, just crawls back into bed and doesn’t say goodbye when Michael leaves the apartment and asks Calum to lock up when he heads to the club later.

*******

It’s a Thursday, which means that the club is mostly dead. A majority of people tend to come on Friday and Saturday, but there’s still a couple of regulars that come in on Thursday nights—the people who don’t work Fridays.

That being said, Michael’s taken to learning who Calum’s regulars are, picking them out as soon as they walk in. He noticed them at first because he preferred to be the only one Calum gave private dances to, and when they first started fooling around, it was hard _not_ to pick out all the people that got to see Calum like that almost as much as he did. He doesn’t care so much now, hasn’t for a few months, especially since he knows Calum definitely doesn’t have eyes for any of them.

Still, he always flags the regulars down when they walk in. Always offers to make them a drink while they wait for Calum to free up. It's a thing. He always does it, and Calum's never told him not to because it means more tips for the both of them.

He hasn't actually _seen_ Calum yet, though, even though his shift started an hour ago. Mostly he assumes Calum must've gone straight to the dressing room when he arrived, or got roped into some private dances already. So he doesn't really think anything of it, until he sees Luke, one of the newest dancers to be hired.

He's seen Luke plenty of times, so he's familiar, but that's not why he catches Michael's attention. Instead, he catches Michael's eye because he isn't _supposed_ to be working tonight. And on the two occasions that it's happened, Michael knows that Luke is the one people call to fill in for them when they've phoned in sick. And suddenly, the fact that he hasn't seen Calum all night makes perfect sense.

Calum never came in to work.

Calum didn't seem sick when Michael left, but Michael knows better. Calum didn't call in because he had a bug, he called in to avoid being in a room with Michael all night. Or at the very least, to avoid having to look at him and be reminded about the awkwardness of the morning before. It crushes him to know that the best person in his life is avoiding him, but Michael also can't argue that Calum's being unreasonable. He knows he'd do the same exact thing if he was in Calum's shoes, no matter how immature.

The rest of the night, he tries not to worry about whether or not Calum will still be at the apartment when he comes back.

He's not sure how he'd handle it if Calum left him. His heart would definitely break, though. He knows that much.

And for some reason, that's the scariest part of all.

*******

The second that Michael steps into the lobby of his building is the same second that he stresses most about the possibility that Calum might not be waiting for him in the apartment. None of his neighbors have mentioned seeing him come or go, but Michael doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

If he was Calum, he wouldn’t have stayed.

Just in case—because Michael’s unfortunately hopeful by nature—he does his best to be quiet when he unlocks the front door. It’s five in the morning, and just in case Calum’s still here, Michael goes out of his way to be silent, because he’d feel even worse about everything if he were to wake the younger boy up.

He trips and curses under his breath when he tries to slide out of his shoes, kicking them away childishly afterwards. On his way to the bedroom, he loosens his tie, letting it fall limp around his collar as he works on undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. Before he opens the bedroom door, he takes a deep breath, holding it as he finally steps into the room.

He’s pleasantly surprised to see the familiar figure of the boy he knows so well sprawled on the bed, his face curled into the soft pillows he’d brought from his own apartment after he claimed Michael’s were too firm for him. Michael had always thought the claim was ridiculous, but watching Calum snuggle into the damn things was so cute it had shut him right up, and he never fought Calum on it again.

An overwhelming burst of warmth spreads throughout his chest at the memory, and Michael steps closer without even thinking about it. When he’s inches away from the mattress, he notices that Calum’s not wearing so much as a stitch of clothing, and he has to bite his tongue on a moan as his dick twitches in his pants at the sight of Calum’s toned back, at the perfect curve of his ass.

Calum never sleeps naked, which makes Michael wonder if this was supposed to be some sort of surprise for him. He’d worked a little later than usual tonight; it’s possible Calum had anticipated Michael would be home earlier than this and intended to have a little fun.

Michael can’t help it; he leans down over the mattress, resting his hands on either side of Calum’s broad shoulders. The dip in the bed makes Calum squirm, but it doesn’t wake him up, so Michael takes it upon himself to crane his neck lower, skirting his lips over the base of Calum’s neck before he starts placing proper kisses to the boy’s spine.

He hears Calum hum, a clear sign that he’s starting to wake up properly, but Michael doesn’t stop. Instead, he brings his kisses back upwards, until he’s planting them to Calum’s cheek and jaw line. Just to be a shit (but also because he knows Calum secretly loves it), he scratches his stubble along the boy's skin, chuckling lowly when Calum shudders and blinks his lovely eyes open.

"Mikey?" He asks groggily, freeing one hand from under the pillows to reach blindly for the older boy.

Michael nods, kissing Calum's shoulder blade softly. "S'me."

Calum sighs contentedly, settling back into the sheets and letting Michael continue to place his kisses wherever they may land. "I wanted to surprise you, but I fell asleep."

It's hard for Michael not to grin proudly at that. "I had to work late. I'm sorry, baby."

At the pet name, Calum turns his head, looking up at Michael as clearly as he can in the dark room. Michael feels absolutely exposed, just like he does every time Calum looks at him like this, and he struggles against the urge to look away.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment as they lay there staring at each other. At some point, Calum rolls over the rest of the way, reaching up with one hand to caress the side of Michael's face. Michael feels small leaning into the touch, turning his head to kiss Calum's fingertips like they're clean air and he can't breathe.

"I'm." Calum starts, clearing his throat when he fails to get it out properly the first time. "I'm sorry for the timing. I shouldn't have said it out of nowhere like that."

Michael's heart breaks even further at that, and he's instantly shaking his head, leaning in to kiss Calum hard. He feels Calum shaking against him, clinging to him desperately, and Michael feels a similar state.

When he pulls away, Michael whispers, "Don't apologize. It's okay." Calum simply nods, his eyes closing in that way he always does whenever he doesn't want to be facing the moment in front of him. Michael kisses his forehead, presses a couple more of them feather-light to Calum's eyelids and the apples of his cheeks. "You're still my boy, yeah? This isn't gonna change that. _Nothing’s_ ever gonna change that."

Calum whimpers instantly, nodding eagerly and wrapping his arms around Michael's shoulders. The fact that Calum's stark naked below him almost makes it worse, somehow; makes Calum seem impossibly more vulnerable than he already is in this moment.

Michael keeps right on kissing him, one arm propping himself up while his opposite hand holds the back of Calum's neck, keeping him as close as possible.

"Yeah, all yours." Calum breathes out, and Michael feels the boy clawing at his back through the material of his shirt. "I'm your boy."

Michael collapses into Calum's waiting arms, then, unable to hold himself up under the weight of those words any longer. Calum latches on as soon as Michael's flush against him, and it's Michael's turn to close his eyes and sigh deeply when he feels Calum kissing at his jaw.

"All mine." Michael says, stroking his fingers through the curls at the nape of Calum's neck.

"All yours. Your boy." Calum repeats, and for once, Michael doesn't question a damn thing.

They're each others'. It's so obvious that they always have been. Michael's starting to think they always will be.

*******

It's not that things are _different_ for the next couple of days after that, per se, it’s just that they also sort of are.

Life goes on, of course, because life always goes on whether anybody wants it to or not. The sun keeps right on rising and setting as always, and the days continue to pass by.

But not everything is the same, oh no.

There're the nights where Calum starts to not come over after their shifts end. Instead, on those nights, he'll send Michael a text to inform him that Ashton drove Calum back to his own apartment and waiting up wasn't necessary. The first time it happens, Michael doesn't read too far into it, but by the fourth night in a row, he's struggling to fall asleep with the knowledge that Calum prefers to sleep at his own place now weighing down on him.

He hates not having the ridiculously soft pillows on his mattress. He hates not having to try to remember who's toothbrush belongs to whom—is he the blue handle or the red handle?—because Calum had brought his back to his own apartment.

Most of all, he hates coming home to find that Calum's towel is hung neatly on the rack, dry with lack of use instead of damp from being thrown carelessly into the corner.

He hates how absolutely _lonely_ the apartment feels without Calum beside him, flitting about the space doing his own thing. Michael misses just simply _coexisting_ with Calum, here in this apartment that never used to mean much of anything to Michael besides a place to sleep and eat.

Calum's the one that turned this place into a home, but Michael's starting to realize that _Calum_ was always home, not the 900 square feet that a stupid key unlocks for him.

Michael's done pretending. How he feels about Calum now is completely separate from how he felt when they first started this thing. He's done pretending that this is the same relationship he entered almost a year ago, because it's just not. They've grown up, grown together. It's not about sex anymore. Michael can't remember the last time that it _was_.

Michael remembers when it all started—how Calum had been particularly seductive during his routine one night. He'd kept giving Michael these suggestive looks from across the room, making sure their eyes locked as often as possible.

He remembers how they danced around each other for weeks, vaguely flirting and upping the sexual tension every single time they interacted with one another.

He remembers the first time Calum stopped playing games with him—when the younger boy walked right up to him after closing, still covered in glitter and sweat, and pressed himself close, whispering, "D'you wanna fuck me, Clifford?" into the small gap of air between their lips.

And Michael remembers how he'd absolutely lost his mind with lust, smirking back at the boy as he simply replied, "How do you want it?", and how the rest was history.

He remembers how they'd sneaked around the club for a month or two, having some fun whenever they could squeeze in the time to capitalize on the opportunity, but he also remembers how Calum had suggested just going back to Michael's place one night since he was sick of getting off in strip club supply closets and bathroom stalls that didn't allow for as much room for all their activities. And Michael remembers not minding one bit when Calum invited himself to stay the night after he fucked the younger boy (in a proper bed, for the first time) so hard that Calum later claimed he very nearly blacked out when he came.

He remembers all of that. And even though he doesn't remember the exact moment that he fell in love with Calum, he does know that he feels it radiating throughout his body with every little thing the boy does. He feels it when Calum yawns first thing after waking up. He feels it whenever he smells that coconut scented shampoo. He feels it every single time he picks that towel up off the floor.

And most importantly, he remembers feeling it crash down on him in wave after wave the very second that Calum said those three little words to him for the first time. How it had hit him so hard it paralyzed him and stunned him into the silence that's very nearly ruining everything.

He decides to do something about it.                

*******

He plans it for Calum's next night off. Michael had been sure to request the night off, too, begging his manager to keep it on the down low so that Calum wouldn't be suspicious about why Michael had suddenly put in for the time off.

Calum's still not sleeping at Michael's place, but Michael somehow convinces Calum to go out with him, aided by his knowledge that the younger boy has always been a total sucker for going on dates. Usually, though, their dates are something small. Something like pizza and a movie, or visiting the old school arcade at the strip mall.

This time, Michael has other plans.

When they pull up to the restaurant, he can see on Calum’s face the _exact_ moment that the boy starts to feel underdressed. Michael feels a little bad, like maybe he should’ve given Calum a heads up since he knows how important dressing for the occasion is to the boy, but the look of genuinely happy surprise that follows is worth the tiny detail omission.

“Are they even gonna let us in, looking like this?” Calum jokes once they’ve parked, walking up the sidewalk towards the front entrance. Calum’s hand is gently wrapped around Michael’s bicep, keeping them close, and Michael can’t stop smiling. “Everyone looks rich and important. They’re gonna think we’ll dine and dash.”

Michael laughs, shaking his head. “I made a reservation, they can’t turn us away.” And Calum doesn’t look too convinced, really, but he shrugs and drops it, instead opting to rest his head on Michael’s shoulder as they walk the rest of the way.

As planned, they get in without a hitch. Michael makes sure he gives Calum his best ‘I told you so’ face, sticking his tongue out when Calum swats at his shoulder. They get a couple of looks from other customers, and Calum puts on his best unamused expression, pointing at Michael before giving him a ‘cut it out’ gesture with his hand that’s not interlocked with Michael’s own, but his lips are twitching up at the corners in a smile.

Their booth is secluded, somewhat dark all around due to the general dim lighting of the restaurant save for the candles in the center of the table. The waitress brings them water and wine glasses right off the bat, and once she scampers off to find a bread basket, Calum gives Michael a look, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“What’re you up to?” Calum asks, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. His tone is lighthearted, though, so Michael simply teases back.

Taking a sip of his wine, Michael hums, averting his eyes away from Calum’s inquisitive ones. “I’m just taking you on a date, what’s wrong with that?”

Calum chuckles, sounding like he’s in disbelief, but he also doesn’t sound like he’s complaining. “Yeah, okay. Fair enough.” He picks up his menu, scanning over some of the entrees, and Michael knows he’s going to make a comment soon about the prices, so he speaks up before Calum can.

“Order whatever you want, okay? I saved up to take you here; I know what I’m getting into.”

He can hear Calum’s frown when he says, “Mikey, I love that you want to spoil me, but seriously. I’d be happy just going to our usual food truck.”

Michael bites down on his tongue, eyes continuing to peruse through some of the dishes listed on the menu. He wishes he could explain why it was so important for the mood to be set _right_ tonight, but then he’d spoil the surprise, and the entire point was for Calum to be surprised. To feel doted on and truly loved, because he _is_. Michael truly _loves_ him.

At the same time, though, a quick glance up at Calum’s face tells Michael that he didn’t need to go to all the trouble of wooing the younger boy. He wooed Calum successfully ages ago—Calum’s going to be surprised and happy no matter where Michael pops his question, simply because Michael’s the one that’s asking it.

“You want to go to our food truck?” Michael asks, setting his menu down. Calum’s hands are clasped in front of him, and he’s nodding his head sheepishly, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I’d rather have greasy Mexican food with you than overpriced Italian any day.” Calum laughs, his smile impossibly wide. “Besides, the truck is by the beach. Who doesn’t love the beach at night?”

And truthfully, Michael can’t argue with that logic.

Calum keeps giggling wildly the whole time Michael runs back through the restaurant, their hands clasped tightly as the younger boy struggles to keep up. He doesn’t think either of them left any cash on the table for the wine they’d drank, so he guesses this officially makes them the dine-and-dashers Calum feared they’d look like, but he can’t find it in himself to mind, even when the hostess curses them out in flawless Italian.

He doesn’t care about anything but Calum’s hand in his. That’s all he could ever want. Calum’s hand in his, forever.

*******

The cooks that run the food truck down the beach are ecstatic to see the two of them again, since they haven’t made a trip out in easily a couple of weeks. Calum’s instantly more himself here than he’d been at the restaurant, giving high fives to the cooks and a kiss on the cheek to the woman that always takes their orders, and Michael’s really glad that Calum suggested doing this instead. It’s more _them_. It makes more sense.

They walk while they eat, and he imagines they’d be holding hands if they weren’t currently occupied by trying to keep their burritos from falling apart into the sand below them. But even though they aren’t touching at the moment, it still feels romantic, because the sun is almost past the horizon and the waves are gently rolling in and Calum smiles at him every single time Michael looks over.

Calum’s smile doesn’t totally touch his eyes, though, and it kills Michael to know that it’s his fault, in a roundabout way. He knows Calum doesn’t hold anything against Michael for what he did or didn't do that night. That Calum isn’t mad about it.

But Michael also knows that he’s hurting, understands how it can’t feel _good_ to feel rejected by the one person you’ve built up the courage to confess your feelings to. And even though Michael didn’t exactly reject him outright, Michael can still visibly see the pangs of sadness that the memory must hit Calum with every single time Calum puts on his tough exterior. He tries to be stoic, so that Michael won’t think it bothers him. Michael's not so blind.

“C’mere,” Michael says once they’re done with their food and they’ve thrown away the trash. He holds one of his hands out, and Calum takes it without question. It warms Michael's heart, how Calum still follows him in spite of everything.

"Where are we going?" Calum asks, the tail end of the question turning up into a giggle.

Michael doesn't answer, just keeps leading Calum down the strip of beach. The loud sounds of cars driving by and people chattering away down by the food truck eventually begin dissipating the further away they get, and Michael presses on, determined to find the perfect place to do this—a place where he won't possibly be interrupted.

That place ends up being by the rocks, where waves crash more intensely and a bit more noisily. He knows Calum likes it here, though, because the first time Calum told him about the food trucks, they'd snuck away to make out in the sand where there wouldn't be a single sound other than the waves around them and each others' unsteady breathing.

The moment that Michael pulls him close to the rocks, Calum beams, giving Michael a sincerely appreciative smile.

"I love the rocks." Calum says, like an afterthought, as his eyes squint to see the foam residue the ocean water is leaving on the slippery rocks in the dim sunlight. They don't have very long until the sun sets completely.

"I remember." Michael adds, and Calum hums.

The younger boy steps closer to the large rocks, letting his fingers trail along a few of them. He figures the sensation must be chilly, but it doesn't seem to make Calum uncomfortable.

"This is way better than Italian food." Calum jokes, giving Michael a soft smile. The increasing moonlight is casting different kinds of shadows over the boy's face, and it takes everything Michael's got not to just kiss the life out of him. He has things to say first.

"Cal, how long have we been seeing each other?"

The question quite obviously catches Calum off guard. His sweet smile falters at the corners, and Michael can immediately tell he's worried about why Michael would ask something like that.

"I, um. Ten months, I think." Calum pauses, staring at Michael with hesitant eyes for a few beats before he tacks on, "Why do you ask?"

Michael sticks his hands in his pockets, his right hand curling around the small metal object in his pocket. He'd had it made a couple of days ago in anticipation for tonight. "So, I made a big mistake the other day. You told me something huge, and I panicked. Like an absolute moron."

Calum immediately shakes his head, reaching out to touch Michael's bicep lightly. "Mikey, no, I told you that you didn't have to be sorry for—"

"But I _am_ sorry." Michael interrupts, and Calum bites down on his lower lip. "I'm so sorry for making you feel like shit about it for days now. I just wasn't expecting it, and I let that ruin a good thing."

Calum chews on his lip harder now, worrisome. His voice is shaky when he whispers, "Please don't leave me. If you want to go back to before, we can, and I'll never say something stupid about my feelings again. Just _please_ , I can't—can't lose you. Not yet, not like _this_."

Michael swears he feels his heart split into two right there, with the sun finally disappearing beyond the horizon and the light of the moon emphasizing the film of tears collecting in the younger boy's eyes. The waves barely cancel out the sound of Calum's rapid breathing.

Michael never thought that would be what Calum was afraid of most. Sure, he knew Calum was hiding how upset he was about his sentiment not being reciprocated immediately, but this? Michael can't believe Calum ever thought Michael would _leave him_ over something like this.

"Calum, baby, I—no." Michael murmurs, stepping close and capturing the boy's face between his pale hands. The contact makes Calum sniffle, and Michael desperately needs to kiss him soon. "Sweetheart, that's the thing. I don't _want_ to go back to how things were before. I mean, sure, they were still good, they were _great_. But before, you weren't telling me that you loved me, and that's probably the best thing I've ever heard in my entire life. I would never want to give that up."

Calum gives him a watery, relieved smile, before he chuckles like he's in disbelief.

Michael continues. "Ten months ago, I never would've thought we'd be standing here right now. But fuck, you changed my life, Cal. You did. And now, I can't imagine a god damn day without you in it."

He hasn't said it yet, but he can see the exact moment that Calum puts two and two together. He can see how Calum's eyes truly light up for the first time in days, how his cheeks heat up in anticipation.

"What are you trying to say?" Calum prompts, his voice still shaky, but Michael thinks it's more from excitement this time.

Michael smiles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the copy of his apartment key. He lifts it up, so that Calum can see it clearly, and Calum _does_ shed one of his tears, then, right after he expels a joyful noise.

"What I'm saying is, while it's long overdue, I love you, too. And if you want to, I'd like nothing more than for you to move in properly, so that I can tell you as much every single day, whenever I damn well please."

Calum just squeals, grabbing the key from Michael's hand and clenching it in his fist as he throws himself into the blond haired boy. Michael stumbles, laughing, before Calum crashes their lips together.

It's bruising, biting, and Michael almost winces with the force of it. But it's the best kind of pain, the kind that reminds him of everything he's gone through in order to be kissed in this way.

His knees go weak, and even when he falls backwards, collapsing into the sand, Calum never once pulls away.

He takes that as a _yes_. As an _I love you more_. As an _I'll love you always_.

*******

The excitement radiating off of them when they reach the front door of the apartment is probably detectable from, like, outer space. Calum's practically vibrating as he fumbles in his pocket for the key Michael had given to him down at the beach, and Michael watches with what he knows is absolute fondness. He can't help it, though. This is one of the best moments of his life.

Calum looks up at him once he's retrieved the key, and Michael just chuckles before nodding encouragingly, waving Calum along. It catches him slightly off guard when Calum pushes up onto his toes to kiss him quickly, but Michael doesn't complain, just smiles against his boy's mouth before swatting him on the ass.

"Come on, open the door." Michael says, slightly impatient. It's just that he'd really like to do some filthy things to the boy in front of him right now, all of which aren't very high on his list of 'Things I Wouldn't Mind My Neighbors Accidentally Witnessing'.

Calum waves him off, but obliges, taking a deep breath as he twists the key in the lock of the door. _Their_ door. To _their_ apartment.

When the lock gives, Calum exhales, grinning up at Michael as if that little click of the door means the whole world. Michael supposes that right now, it kind of does.

"Get your ass in here." Calum murmurs, pushing the door open before he yanks Michael through the threshold by the collar of his shirt. He slams the door shut first, and then next is Michael, up against the wall beside the entranceway.

Calum's lips are on him before Michael can even properly prepare himself for it. He barely gasps in a quick breath before his mouth is being smothered, strong hands digging into the soft skin of his waist over the top of his shirt. Which. Clothes. Those have got to go, and preferably soon.

His mouth is still swollen from the ferocious kisses they'd exchanged at the beach, but he presses on, because no amount of potential bruising to his lips is worth not kissing Calum in this moment.

Calum's fingers make quick work of Michael's belt and zipper, and when Calum pulls away to remove his own jeans, Michael kicks them off his legs the rest of the way.

He cringes when he notices the grains of sand that had clung to the material of their pants and are now tragically scattered all over the living room floor, and Calum laughs when he notices what Michael's disgusted face is all about.

"Hey." Calum says, cupping his hand around Michael's jaw. When he has Michael's eyes on him, he smiles softly. "I can clean it up tomorrow."

The offer makes Michael glow. Not just because Calum's offering to clean so that Michael won't have to, but because Calum's offering to clean since the space is his now, too. Michael just loves the little reminder of that fact.

"Fuck, I love you." Michael breathes. It feels so wonderful to just _say_ it, after all this time, and Calum smiles so wide Michael almost makes a joke about how his face is gonna get stuck like that if he doesn't stop. He refrains, though, in favor of pushing at Calum's hips until the boy starts walking backwards towards the couch.

"You better not let me fall, asshole." Calum teases, but it's obvious that he knows Michael won't, that he trusts him, since his eyes don't leave Michael's even once.

"Never." Michael says anyway, and Calum kisses him like he can't help it, can't keep on breathing without it.

Michael gently coaxes Calum down onto the sofa, and Calum spreads his legs without any hesitation, inviting Michael to settle himself between them easily. He shrugs out of his shirt before he does, and Calum quickly does the same once he realizes he'll be too preoccupied with kissing Michael in a few seconds to do it any later.

"Come on, get over here." Calum snaps, and Michael laughs, pinching the inside of Calum's thigh and enjoying the way the boy yelps and squirms at the contact. "Don't tease."

"Don't be so sassy." Michael fires back, but he still climbs up onto the couch between Calum's legs, because he's too easy for it to resist him any longer. It feels heavenly, to be pressed against Calum like this, but the relieved sound Calum makes when Michael kisses at his jaw is more sinful than anything.

He allows it when Calum works his hips up, because he'd be a liar if he said he didn’t love the feeling of it. Unfortunately, though, he also knows how easily Calum can make him come right in his boxers, because the boy has done it, and on more than one occasion.

"So lucky." Michael mumbles distantly, pressing closed mouth kisses all along the expanse of Calum's neck. Calum hums happily, fidgeting when Michael starts licking at his sensitive collarbones, over the couple of tattoos he has there. "M'the luckiest man in the world to call you mine."

Calum whimpers, sliding his slender fingers through Michael's hair as he continues to kiss his way down Calum's torso slowly but surely. "Yours," Calum chokes out, and Michael shows Calum how much that means to him by licking over one of his nipples firmly. The arch of the boy's back encourages Michael to do it once more, blowing cool air over the damp skin before he inches his way down a bit more. "Love you so much, Mike."

Michael can't help it, he smiles so fucking big at those words, has to press his mouth firmly against Calum's brown skin in order to not grin lamely up at the boy. He doesn't think Calum would mind if he did, because he's a sentimental dork like that, but he's trying to be _sexy_ here, not _adorable_.

He knows Calum well, though. He knows exactly what'll distract Calum from Michael's inability to stop smiling at the way Calum says he loves him.

"I think I wanna get a taste of that ass tonight." Michael murmurs, turning his face to assault Calum's inner thighs with kisses and little lovebites.

As expected, Calum absolutely loses it at the suggestion, his thighs already shaking just at the idea. Michael smirks, sliding a hand up to palm over Calum's crotch through his briefs as he continues to suck marks to Calum's sensitive thighs. He has no idea how Calum's going to cover these for work, but he doesn't think Calum really cares, since he just sinks his fingers further into Michael's blond locks and whispers his name over and over like it's a prayer of some kind.

"Please," Calum gasps, his head thrown back over the armrest of the sofa. Michael's not even bothered that the boy isn't looking at him, that's how beautiful Calum looks like this.

"Yeah?" Michael asks darkly, squeezing hard around the outline of Calum's cock. He swallows down a moan when it twitches in his hand, all desperate and aching. He guarantees Calum's already leaking in his underwear. "Want me to eat your ass?"

Calum sobs, kicking one of his feet like he's being tortured, or something. "Yeah, fuck, _please_."

Michael finally caves when Calum rolls his hips desperately, sitting back on his feet so that he can pull Calum's boxers off of him. Calum's pliant under him, muscles clearly like liquid as he lets Michael take and give whatever he wants.

The second that Calum's naked, Michael's pushing his legs apart, smiling fondly when Calum automatically wraps a hand around the back of one of his knees to keep himself spread.

He doesn't waste any time, lowering himself so that he's laying flat against the sofa with Calum's thighs framing his face. This is probably Michael's favorite place to be—he could spend hours going down on Calum like this. _Has_ spent hours going down on him like this.

Calum moans when Michael's hands spread his cheeks apart, but it turns into a drawn out curse the moment that Michael breathes hot and heavy over the boy's hole.

"Fuck me," Calum whispers almost dreamily, and Michael can see the blissful smirk on Calum's face when he looks up. It only urges him on, prompts him to flick his tongue out and lick over the puckered flesh properly.

"Later." Michael replies, and Calum breathes out a desperate laugh. "Now be quiet. Gonna make you come so hard."

Calum doesn't seem to have any objections to that, seeing as how he bites down on his lip and pulls his leg closer to his chest in hopes of spreading himself further. He's so _good_ , it blows Michael's mind.

Michael buries his face back between Calum's cheeks then, and he doesn't intend to pull back until Calum's coming on his tongue. He knows it won't take long, because Calum's always been really sensitive when it comes to this.

He's relentless, flicking his tongue quickly over Calum's hole before he circles the rim with the tip slowly, dipping in every now and again before he reels back and starts the process all over again. He can tell how much it's killing Calum to be quiet, his stomach tensing and legs shaking and his teeth biting around his fist as he makes weak little noises in the back of his throat. Calum's skin is growing tacky with sweat, and Michael's increasingly short of breath the harder that he works to get Calum there, but it's worth it when he coaxes one finger inside and Calum actually _screams_.

Michael can't even be bothered to reprimand him for making such a loud noise. Instead, he simply pushes up on his knees so that he has better leverage, thrusting his finger in hard and fast while his tongue laps lazily at Calum's hole.

"Mike—" Calum warns, and Michael just growls, fucking him faster with his finger as he picks Calum's dick up with his free hand, sinking his mouth down on the head and shivering when Calum's hand tangles in his hair harshly. " _Fuck_ , Michael, c-coming."

True to his word, Calum's cock twitches against Michael's tongue, and he can feel when the boy clenches repeatedly around his finger. Calum comes in what seems like waves, the younger boy crying out as he lets go of his leg in favor of wrapping it around Michael's shoulders to keep him close. Michael swallows him down again and again, taking every last drop Calum manages to give him, and he doesn't stop until Calum has to physically push him away.

"Holy shit," Calum breathes, smiling when Michael immediately surges up to kiss him. If Michael's mouth tastes bitter and salty (which he imagines it must), Calum doesn't let on, just kisses him right back like he doesn't even mind.

Michael loves the hell out of him.

"Your turn." Calum says once Michael's pulled away, his hands pushing at the waistband on Michael's briefs until the older boy gets the hint and shoves them off. "Tell me what you want."

Michael shakes his head, wrapping his own fist around his cock and jerking fast. He's already close—so close, it would take superhuman abilities not to nearly shoot a load at the sight of Calum Hood having an orgasm—and he knows it'll only take seconds anyway.

"Just, just let me—" Michael grits out, and Calum nods, eyes wide. He slides himself lower on the couch, laying languidly below him until Michael's essentially got unlimited skin at his disposal.

"Wanna come on me?" Calum asks, and Michael shudders before he nods desperately. "You can. Wherever you want, babe, go ahead."

Michael's hips jerk hard into his first, and he feels chills break out all over his skin. The knot in his stomach is unwinding, and there's no way he can hold back much longer. "F-fuck, chest. Your chest."

Calum nods eagerly, arching his spine and tilting his head back so that his chest is more prominent. The sight is like a punch to the gut, and all it takes is Calum's hand trailing over his forearm absentmindedly before Michael's exploding over his fist, splashes of white landing across his boy's chest and contrasting against his dark skin, against his even darker tattoos. Michael comes while whispering out a broken, "I love you," and Calum squirms the second Michael says it, like that makes the action filthier, somehow, or more intimate, maybe.

He feels boneless and weak afterwards, and he collapses into Calum's waiting arms, careless to the fact that there's a mess between them. All he can think about is the way Calum takes to kissing him, slow and sweet and lovely.

"No offense," Michael teases, "but you've got to be the best lay on the entire planet."

Calum howls with laughter, throwing his head back and squinting his eyes with the force of his grin. As expected, Calum counters, "I better be," before he caresses Michael's cheek and kisses him again. They lay there for a few more minutes, until their heavy breathing turns slightly more normal, before Michael sits up, pulling Calum with him.

"Alright, so now we have to go christen the bedroom." Michael declares.

Calum shakes his head, but he's still giggling, so he can't think Michael's _that_ much of a dork. Probably. "Babe, I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

Michael scoffs. "Nonsense. Besides, I told you I was gonna fuck you later. It's later."

Calum rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around Michael's neck and kissing his jaw lightly. "Fine. But you have to carry me there."

And really, it's an unnecessary request, because the likelihood that Michael would've carried Calum to the bedroom anyways is very, _very_ high. Regardless, Michael nods, standing and scooping Calum into his arms bridal style. It makes Calum blush and laugh again, making some comment about how absurd they must look while doing this naked.

He shuts right up when Michael kisses him.

*******

Later, after Michael's both fucked him senseless and made what Calum has horrifically dubbed 'sweet, sweet love' to him, Calum wonders aloud, "So, what does this mean for us now?"

They're lying in bed, everything thrown to the floor besides the fitted sheets, and Calum's got his head resting on Michael's chest while Michael strokes through the boy's hair. The only other sound in the room besides their voices and breathing is the whir of the ceiling fan above them, and Michael hasn't felt this peaceful in probably _ever_.

"What do you mean?"

"Like." Calum shrugs. "What are we?"

Michael maneuvers himself out from under Calum's body, inching himself down until they're lying face to face. Calum's smiling at him, but he doesn't look worried, not like Michael thought he might.

"We're whatever you want us to be." Michael offers. "Absolutely whatever your heart desires."

Calum blushes, but he appears to like the sound of that answer. "Well, it's been almost a year, yeah? I was thinking we could be, like, boyfriends? And I mean actual boyfriends."

Michael chuckles. "Actual boyfriends? As opposed to...just boyfriends?"

"Yeah, you ass." Playfully, Calum shoves his shoulder, but his smile never falters. "Actual boyfriends. Boyfriends that flaunt each other around. Boyfriends who are friends with each others' parents and go on family vacations with each other and stuff. I wanna be your actual boyfriend."

Michael's heart does flips in his chest, and he can't help himself when he grabs Calum's hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the back of it firmly.

"Actual boyfriends it is, then. I would love to be your actual boyfriend." Michael says. "And whatever else you might want in the future. You deserve the whole world, Calum. You deserve to be so happy."

When Calum smiles at him again, there are tears in his eyes, and Michael doesn't think he's ever loved one person so much in his entire life.

" _You’re_ my world, Mikey. You're all that I could ever need to be happy." Calum admits, and then Calum's kissing him again.

And suddenly, in that moment, Michael _knows_ that he's never loved anyone even half as much as he loves Calum. Because Calum's a whole new kind of love. He can't explain it, sometimes, but he knows that Calum is home, and he supposes that maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to yell at/chat with/be friends with me, you can do so [on tumblr](http://dafeedil.tumblr.com/).


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